A Daughter of the Dons eBook

“You choose to be what you call droll.
Sir, I give you the word, poltroon—­lache—­coward.”

“Oh, go chase yourself.”

One of Pesquiera’s little gloved hands struck
the other’s face with a resounding slap.
Next instant he was lifted from his feet and tucked
under Dick’s arm.

There he remained, kicking and struggling, in a manner
most undignified for a blue blood of Castile, while
the Coloradoan stepped leisurely forward to the irrigating
ditch which supplied water for the garden and the
field of grain behind. This was now about two
feet deep, and running strong. In it was deposited,
at full length, the clapper little person of Don Manuel
Pesquiera, after which Dick Gordon turned and went
limping down the road.

From the shutters of her room a girl had looked down
and seen it all. She saw Don Manuel rescue himself
from the ditch, all dripping with water. She
saw him gesticulating wildly, as he cursed the retreating
foe, before betaking himself hurriedly from view to
the rear of the house, probably to dry himself and
nurse his rage the while. She saw Gordon go on
his limping way without a single backward glance.

Then she flung herself on her bed and burst into tears.

CHAPTER V

“AN OPTIMISTIC GUY”

Dick Gordon hobbled up the road, quite unaware for
some time that he had a ricked knee. His thoughts
were busy with the finale that had just been enacted.
He could not keep from laughing ruefully at the difference
between it and the one of his day-dreams. He was
too much of a Westerner not to see the humor of the
comedy in which he had been forced to take a leading
part, but he had insight enough to divine that it was
much more likely to prove melodrama than farce.

Don Manuel was not the man to sit down under such
an insult as he had endured, even though he had brought
it upon himself. It would too surely be noised
round that the Americano was the claimant to
the estate, in which event he was very likely to play
the part of a sheath for restless stilettos.

This did not trouble him as much as it would have
done some men. The real sting of the episode
lay in Valencia Valdes’ attitude toward him.
He had been kicked out for his unworthiness. He
had been cast aside as a spy and a sneak.

The worst of it was that he felt his clumsiness deserved
no less an issue to the adventure. Confound that
little Don Manuel for bobbing up at such an inconvenient
time! It was fierce luck.

He stopped his tramp up the hill, and looked back
over the valley. Legally it was all his.
So his Denver lawyers had told him, after looking
the case over carefully. The courts would decide
for him in all probability; morally he had not the
shadow of a claim. The valley in justice belonged
to those who had settled in it and were using it for
their needs. His claim was merely a paper one.
It had not a scintilla of natural justice back of
it.